


The Empire Strikes Crack

by LegionnaireLovi (orphan_account)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Crack, Multi, The one with the highest pain tolerance is...?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-05
Updated: 2017-02-14
Packaged: 2018-09-15 00:26:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 15,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9211715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/LegionnaireLovi
Summary: The Roman Empire threw his sword down and stuck a stunning, statuesque pose, before face palming forcefully. The elder grandson was cowering behind the couch, and the younger was cowering behind a white flag that was very, very tiny and very, very pathetic, kind of like his—"RISE LEGIONS! THE TIME HAS COME TO RECLAIM THE EMPIRE!"(on hiatus)





	1. The Empire Returns

It was a dark and stormy night when the Roman Empire came back from the dead. Well, not the dead really, since he had just disappeared at some point and no one knew where he'd gone. So…he came back from a vacation, perhaps.

Anyway, that night, two Italians were slouched against each other in front of a roaring fire, having fallen asleep with bellies full of…food. Maybe it was pasta. I dunno. Soon there was a loud knock on the thick wooden door, like thunder, booming through the large stone house.

"Gah." The elder of the two brothers bolted upright and turned to see that the fire had dwindled to glowing embers. The younger smiled sleepily.

"It's just the thunder, go back to sleep, Fratello."

Romano eyed the door suspiciously but concluded that it must have been thunder, because dark and stormy nights come with those. Veneziano yawned and curled in on himself like a small animal, such as a cat, for example. Because we all know that he's kind of a—

BOOM!

Romano stretched and padded to the kitchen to make some hot cocoa.

"Want some? I mean, we're up now, so might as well."

"Yeah, sure."

The two Italians were sitting contentedly by the rekindled fire, steaming mugs of cocoa in hand when the window was fatally stabbed, raining glass on the brothers and the fireplace and the carpet and the couch and the rug and really anywhere it would have been logical for glass to rain after a window had been broken by the sword of a very damp and irritated Roman Empire. But they, being very old nations, had developed defense mechanisms trained into their muscle memory, and sprang into action.

The Roman Empire threw his sword down and stuck a stunning, statuesque pose, before face palming forcefully. The elder grandson was cowering behind the couch, and the younger was cowering behind a white flag that was very, very tiny and very, very pathetic, kind of like his—

"RISE LEGIONS! THE TIME HAS COME TO RECLAIM THE EMPIRE!"

Veneziano peeked out from his flag and Romano crawled out from behind the couch.

"Nonno? What the fuck?"

* * *

France was surprised and very pleased to see a red-faced Romano at his doorstep, twiddling his thumbs and looking very pretty in a tight, dark green button up, leather jacket, and black skinny jeans.

"Well Romano," He purred, "Do _come_ —in."

Romano threw up in his mouth a little, but stepped inside, shedding his jacket. France shut the door, smugly. Romano took in his surroundings. Tastefully decorated and well lit, if nothing else. And a decanter of deep red wine, accompanied by two delicate, stemless glasses, placed on the entry hall table. Romano inhaled deeply and whirled around.

"OH GOD! What—"

"Oh hon hon hon, you flatter me. I know I am god-like in stature, but there is no need to be intimidated, mon petit—OH GOD! MY EYES, MY EYES!"

Romano threw the mace down and raced out the door, snatching France's wine and texting frantically as he sprinted to his Ferrari.

* * *

**Pervert down Omw**

Affirmative.

Activating Phase Two.

**Is that you Nonno**

**?**

No he is afraid of phones.

and cars

he refuses to use the toilet

I had to dig a ditch for him.

* * *

The very picture of the perfect English gentleman had just sunk with a sigh into his favorite seat with a cup of steaming coffee, (Yes. Coffee.) when his secretary burst into his office, heels skittering on the wooden floor, puffing and clutching her briefcase, bangs plastered to her forehead.

"Sir! There's been a distress call from Calais!"

England sat bolt upright, coffee jumping out of his hand, mug shattering on the desk and splashing a little on Nancy, who gasped and stumbled back, landing on her rump.

"Oh dear god! Nancy I'm so terribly sorry!" England dropped to his knees and ripped his handkerchief from his pocket, dabbing ineffectually at her blouse. "Nurse! Nurse! Can we get a nurse in here!"

Nancy blinked. "Ah, I'm fine, just a little startled, the bulletproof vest took most of it…"

England blubbered, "Oh, Nancy, I'm so very sorry! How much does it hurt? I do apologise!"

"Um, only a little. I—"

"NANCY! OH, NANCY WHAT HAVE I DONE?! NANCY—" England then passed out, sobbing uncontrollably.

Nancy cleared her throat loudly and hauled England's unconscious form off of herself, dumping him into his office chair. She took a moment to light herself one of England's expensive cigarettes and to help herself to his whiskey stash before exiting the office briskly, heels clacking on the hard wood floor, to fetch the smelling salts, right before a trembling Veneziano hoisted himself through the office window.

* * *

**England down, Fratello.**

**I'm tying him onto the Vespa.**

thank God

Come fix Nonno

**What happened?**

he wont stop crying

**What? Why?**

he accidentally turned on the TV

* * *

France woke as he had many times before, to his eyes blindfolded, his hands tied, and mouth gagged; which was strange, since he hadn't paid Sandrine for the last time yet. He heard muffled yelling and felt another person struggling valiantly against his back.

He gasped when the gag was ripped from his mouth.

"Where am I? What is the meaning of this? I demand that you remove these impediments!"

"Angleterre?"

"Frog?"

"SHUT UP!"

Both nations froze at the sound of a voice they hadn't heard in thousands of years.

"YOU ARE BOTH CLAIMED BY THE EMPIRE ONCE AGAIN. ROMANO, VENEZIANO, FREE GAUL AND BRITANNIA. THERE IS MUCH WORK TO BE DONE!"

The blindfolds and ropes were removed, France pulling England into a protective embrace. Romano sipped his liberated wine and smirked into his glass—"Gay."

The almighty Roman Empire glanced questioningly at his grandson.

"Huh?"

"What?"

"What did you just say, Lovino?"

"Um, I referred to them as gay. In a pejorative manner."

"Gay?"

"Oh, like, homosexual."

"Oh."

"Yeah." Romano scoffed, "Geez, I mean, wierdos, am I right? Who'd wanna do that? Gah."

The Roman Empire smiled warmly and clapped his grandson on the shoulder. "It's okay, Lovino, I like to have hot, passionate butt sex with other men too. It's perfectly natural."

Romano, paused, stunned.

"Me too fratello! When you meet your special someone you should try it sometime!"

Romano spewed a mouthful of red wine all over the stunned England and France.


	2. Seize the Day, & the Unsuspecting Victim

Spain was sat on a bench, admiring a cloud that looked a little like a tomato, when a burlap bag was shoved over his head and he was yanked to the ground and thrown into what felt like the back of a van of the windowless variety.

"Who are you?" he demanded, "I can pay any ransom you ask for!"

Romano coughed up a strangled sounding laugh and started the van. Veneziano finished tightening the ropes on Spain's wrists and ankles. Spain wept softly. Because he was actually kind of broke.

* * *

Portugal also sat on a bench, also admiring the clouds, when England came strolling along.

"Hello England."

"Hello Portugal."

"Would you like some tea?"

"Ah, thank you for the offer, but it's very hot out…"

"DRINK THE BLOODY TEA! I WON'T ASK AGAIN."

"Okay! Jesus."

Portugal drank the tea and passed out in the sand, because England put drugs in it.

* * *

Monaco was laying her cards on the table and sweeping in her winnings when she felt a light tap on her shoulder. She turned, unsurprised to find France behind her.

"Hello France. Is there anything I can do for you?"

France grinned sheepishly and twiddled his thumbs. "We've been conquered."

"Excuse me?"

"Uh…We. Have. Been. Conquered."

"You mean you've been conquered." Monaco sniffed.

"No, Monaco, we've been conquered. Get in the windowless van." France sighed dejectedly.

Monaco pouted and sat in the windowless van between Spain and Portugal.

* * *

Switzerland stared at Belgium and polished his gun, glaring menacingly. Belgium slowly chewed a square of her famous chocolate. Switzerland put down his gun and popped a square of his own chocolate into his mouth.

"Mine is better."

"I have a scary gun."

"Compensating for something?"

"NO."

"Um, yeah, actually, I think you might be."

"…"

"I'm leaving now. I think we both know who won this."

Suddenly they were both shot with sleeping darts and shoved into a windowless van.

* * *

"Arrgh!"

Greece punched Turkey in the face, straddling his torso, while Turkey tried his hardest to keep his grasp on Greece's neck. They rolled sideways in the dirt until Turkey was on top, half strangling Greece, who fought to flip them over again, writhing under the heavier nation. You see, they had happened to both be taking shirtless runs, and were covered in sweat, worked up under the hot summer sun. They, of course, immediately had to fight each other, compelled by the burning passion in their hearts. Uh, burning, passionate, hatred, of course.

"I hate you!"

"I hate you more!"

"Maybe if I rough you up a little you'll learn not to fuck with me!"

"I'll fuck with you if I want to!"

"So you want me to rough you up?"

"Give me your worst! I can take it and give it back!"

"So you'll return the favor, huh?!"

Once both nations were unconscious due to fatigue, they were carted off to the windowless van, which was starting to get very crowded.

* * *

The Netherlands rushed into the Villa's main entry, searching frantically.

"Emma!? Where are you? It's me!"

A figure spoke from the shadows. "If you're looking for her, you won't find her." A half-eaten bar of chocolate was tossed at Netherlands' feet.

"You." Netherlands spoke with contempt, "Was it you who kidnapped my sister?"

"No, but it is me who's holding your bike hostage."

Netherlands gasped, but then hung his head in defeat.

Belgium and Switzerland stepped out of the shadows.

"God damn it."

* * *

Lichtenstein and Luxembourg were informed that Switzerland, Netherlands, and Belgium had been conquered, so they quietly complied with the empire's demands.

* * *

There was a sharp rap on Austria's door.

"Spain? How nice to see you, do come in."

Austria sat down at his beloved piano and began to play, the music filling the entire room. The Spain pulled a little mini axe from his jacket.

"I am going to smash this piano if you don't join the empire." Spain said, dully.

"Alright. Do it."

"Seriously?"

"Yes. I wouldn't say it if I didn't mean it."

"Okay." Spain brought the axe up above his head dramatically; eyes boring down into the polished wooden surface.

"NOOOOOOOO! NO! STOP!"

"You said to do it."

"I didn't think you would!"

"Well…will you join now?"

"You have to spare the love of my life."

"Fine but you have to throw in Hungary or it's no deal."

"...Deal."

* * *

"Germany!"

Veneziano skipped around the much larger nation, curl bouncing jubilantly in time with his jumping.

"No."

"No…what?"

"Italy…I will not join the Roman Empire."

Veneziano's expression darkened. "Then I won't make sweet, passionate love to you anymore."

Germany shrugged and trudged away in the direction of his secret, underground sex dungeon.


	3. Obscurum per Obscurius

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obscurum per Obscurius — basically an explanation or statement that confuses further, rather than clarifying.

Fourteen nations waited silently in the dimly lit atrium of a Roman villa, some leaning against columns, others seated on the steps by the impluvium, trailing their toes in the clear water. The braziers threw flickering light over the nation's solemn faces and cast the corners of the atrium in deep shadow. Distant footsteps approaching could be heard behind the large, elaborately carved oaken doors.

At the faint sound, all fourteen turned to peer toward the door as the footsteps increased in volume.

They exchanged glances, the footfalls growing louder as they cut through the thick silence.

The doors burst open, revealing Veneziano, Romano, and a short, slender boy of perhaps fourteen, burdened with a sheet of parchment, a pot of ink, and several quills.

All fourteen stared at the three before one nation broke the silence.

"Why are we wearing bedsheets?"

An uproar broke out, nations leaping to their feet and demanding answers, throwing grapes and goblets of wine, overturning tables and ripping off their togas, while Romano, Veneziano, and Seborga hung their heads and contemplated deserting their posts. Then Romano looked up and shrieked.

"GOD DAMN IT! HE'S DOING IT AGAIN! MARCELLO! DON'T LOOK!"

Romano then marched back down the hall, Seborga in tow, yanking the doors shut behind them.

Italy sighed and stared at the ceiling, defeated, while England hurriedly re-wrapped France's toga. Spain and Portugal were already asleep, slouched against a wall. Austria expressed his disdain and anger through his piano as Hungary drew her frying pan and approached him. Monaco somehow began picking everyone's nonexistent pockets. Greece and Turkey eyed each other warily, in a completely hostile and non-foreplay-esque manner. Belgium and Switzerland both passive aggressively nibbled at squares of chocolate, and Luxembourg and Lichtenstein didn't do much of note, except sit there quietly.

Then two things happened.

One: Hungary fucking murdered that piano.

Two: The Roman Empire burst into the atrium, followed by Romano and Seborga.

Everyone gasped and turned towards the Roman Empire, except Austria, who was weeping and shaking uncontrollably, draped across the corpse of his beloved piano.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" He whirled on Romano. "DID I NOT GIVE YOU A SIMPLE TASK?"

Romano muttered and apology and cleared his throat, turning to his fellow nations.

"Everyone sign the goddamn cession, and if a single one of you doesn't, you'll all be made to fight to the death against wild animals, such as lions and tigers and bears," he paused. "…nope. Anyway, unless you all want to have your guts ripped out over and over every day, you'll sign it.

The atrium was filled with anxious mutterings, wringing hands, and tapping feet.

Portugal spoke up. "Why are you doing this Rome? And why have you returned?"

"Ah. A fine question. Because I am wanted to."

"Oh, yes, of course, but why is that?"

"Heheh. Because all roads lead to Rome."

"Um, I don't—I don't quite follow."

Rome let out a hearty, bellowing laugh. "You do not need to! But what you do need to do, is to sign this cession! You would not like to find yourself being torn limb from limb by carnivorous animals, your cities razed, your people enslaved—again? Of course not!"

"No, I suppose not. But…eh…can you really do that nowadays? I mean, you're not quite in your prime anymore, maybe feeling a bit out of touch, probably suffering from low testo…"

Rome glowered.

Everyone signed the cession.

* * *

After the meeting, Romano sat deep in the lush gardens, brooding prettily, when Spain emerged from the hedge maze, a basket of tomatoes in hand.

"Hola, amorcito."

Romano looked up sulkily. "Spagna?"

"Oh, Lovi, are you upset? Would you like a tomato?"

"No. And no also. Go away."

Spain frowned thoughtfully before his face lit up and he walked right up to Romano, plopped down on the bench, and kissed him one-sidedly on the face. The mouth actually. He tried to use tongue, but…"CHE!?" Romano recoiled sideways off the bench, unintentionally pulling Spain along with him, into a patch of carnations.

This resulted in Spain sprawled on top of Romano in of a bed of aggressively red flowers, bathed in the buttery light of the morning, both togas hanging only loosely off their frames.

"Bueno…Romano…" Spain chuckled huskily, oblivious to Romano's frozen look of terror.

Rome chose that moment to come wandering blithely into the little garden.

"Ah hah! I see you have taken my advice, Lovino!" He snickered knowingly, "Enjoy yourself, do not let me interrupt…" He strolled away, deaf to Romano's pleas of "Come back!", "It's not what it looks like!" and, "I don't want to have hot, passionate butt sex with other men!"

* * *

**Oh God.**

What?

**Spain sort of...licked my face.**

Yay!

Congratulations!

When's the wedding, fratello?

**Ew no.**

**Dont u think its kinda weird**

**He raised me**

…

Actually yes

Didn't think of that.

**but its also weird cuz hes a guy!**

**Because im not into that**

**Okay!?**

Uh…ok

Sure

**good**

**Im glad we established this**


	4. Velocius Quam Asparagi Coquantur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Velocius quam asparagi coquantur — Faster than you can cook asparagus

Egypt leaned back on the bench, peering down his nose into his goblet.

"So, what you're telling me is…"

"Yes. When you join our empire—"

"I don't fancy wearing a toga again. Bit too breezy downstairs..."

Rome furrowed his brow and leaned forwards, gripping his cup tightly.

"And you know I'm not like your other territories…eh…without my grain, you'd have starved many times. And you know, you failed to protect me from Persia…"

Egypt rubbed his chin thoughtfully, mysterious aura swirling around him, and Rome spoke.

"Hassan. I know we have not had the best relationship in the past, but as you have said, you are not like the rest of my territories, and that is why I am speaking directly to you, andnothavingyoushovedintothebackofaterrifingwindowlesshorselesschariot." Rome smiled broadly.

Egypt ran his hands through his dark, wavy hair. "What? Err, no. No, I've made my choice. The answer is no. I've only been independent for sixty-two years, and I'm not giving it up anytime soon."

Rome darkened considerably, reclined back in his chair, and snapped his fingers. Suddenly Hungary and Turkey emerged from behind Egypt, Spain and Greece on the balcony, and the Netherlands and Portugal at the doors.

Egypt sat straight up, eyes wide. "What—"

Rome regarded his wine snobbily. "I would advise you to consider your options very carefully."

* * *

"My balls. Are. cold." Egypt crossed his legs and rubbed his biceps.

France smirked. "Well, I—"

England captured his arm in a vice grip. "I SWEAR."

France looked sheepish and allowed himself to be carted away.

Spain joined Egypt on the steps of the gazebo, clapping him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, you don't have to wear it all the time. And whenever it's cold or windy, you can just think about Romano!"

Egypt squirmed away from Spain's hand. "Ehrm…yes…we are all aware…"

"Welcome back Egitto!" Egypt was suddenly pounced upon from behind by an overeager Veneziano, toga fluttering majestically in the breeze.

"Ah, Veni…it's nice to see you again…"

Romano emerged, scowling, from the hedge maze. "What about me?"

Egypt opened his mouth to reply, but not before Spain made a dive for Romano.

"LOVI, LOVI! TE AMO! CÁSAME!"

Spain tackled Romano, who had gone deathly pale under his olive tan and let out a strangled squawk as Spain dragged him away, nuzzling his hair. Egypt sighed heavily and rose to free the captive Romano, when his arm was seized by Turkey.

"Egypt. Are you feeling nostalgic? I am. We should spend some more time together, now that we will be seeing each other so often." He chuckled good naturedly.

Egypt kept a neutral expression. "We kept very close company for three centuries, if I remember correctly…and anyway, I'm not your bitch just because we signed a few trade deals."

Turkey grinned carnivorously and took a threatening step towards Egypt. "I never said you were, but maybe Rome isn't the only empire that could reclaim its holdings. Who would—"

Egypt scowled and shoved him away forcefully. Turkey stumbled back, shocked, before running forward and catching Egypt in the jaw with a bruising left hook, knocking him to the ground. Egypt grimaced and snatched up his staff while Turkey towered over him menacingly.

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" Greece marched up to Turkey and yanked him back.

Turkey growled and shoved Greece off. "Nothing!"

"Really? It didn't look like nothing! It looked like you were fighting with Egypt! Are you...are you—" Greece looked stunned and hurt for a moment.

"What? What did you think I was doing? This?" Turkey snarled angrily, charging Greece and tackling him into the fragrant, flowery greenery. It quickly devolved into a heated, feverish, intense, not at all homoerotic make up wrestling match in the bushes, an unshaken Italy and a somewhat battered Egypt watching on in apathy from the gazebo.

* * *

"Ciao, Bella!" Romano struggled wildly, dragging Spain, who was draped over him, hanging from his waist and shoulder, across the cobblestone courtyard. Belgium looked on in concerned amusement.

"Ah, Lovi, eres bello!"

Belgium shrugged and started to walk back towards the villa.

"Amore! Come, let me show you the sights of Rome!" Romano appealed to her desperately as he flailed frantically against Spain, still cooing his adoration up at his captive.

"iMás hermoso que el sol que trae luz al mundo! iTe amo más que la vida! "

"Per Favore! Please, bella! Ti amo!"

"iTe amo tambien, mi cielo!"

Romano laughed hoarsely and hysterically, "Emma! Emma please! I'll do anything!"

Belgium spun around, darkness in her eyes.

Spain whimpered and unlatched from Romano, who shot over to Belgium, clutching her arm in trepidation.

"W-what can I do for you bella?"

Belgium smiled sadistically. "Unleash your mafia upon Switzerland, and burn down all his chocolate factories."


	5. Beatus Saturnalibus!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saturnalia was an ancient Roman festival in honor of the god Saturn, which took place from roughly the 17th to the 23rd of December. Much later, Christmas celebrations were adapted to a date closer to Saturnalia, to appease the people, who were accustomed to riotous celebration at this time of year. So…here's my obligatory Christmas chapter!

"MERRY CHRISTMAS!"

The Empire's nations toasted enthusiastically, red wine sloshing slightly out of golden cups.

"I love Christmas!" Netherlands exclaimed, waving around his empty bottle around semi-threateningly at anyone who appeared not to be having good enough of a time.

"Me too!" Italy gushed, tugging Romano, surprisingly unresisting and giggling like an idiot, into a hug. "Whooot!" South Italy cheered, lapsing from Latin into his native tongue, "Sono ubricado!"

" I want some wine! England! I want some wine!" Sealand whined at his guardian.

"You're not getting any wine! Drink your tea and keep quiet! Children are to be seen and not heard!" England snapped back, somewhat less restrained due to—despite his great reluctance to admit it—his propensity for alcoholic beverages.

"Ah, Angleterre, let the child have a little bit, maybe then he won't grow up to be an uptight, repressed, joyless adult like…uh…" France trailed off, wiping a dribble of saliva from England's chin with a borrowed handkerchief, and noting to himself that England must be laid on his side rather than his back when he went to sleep, so as not to choke on his own vomit.

France was pulled away from his task as England's and Sealand's responsible adult when the Iberian brothers both latched onto an arm and dragged him away.

Spain shoved a glass of sangria under France's nose. "Feliz Navidad Francia! Try this! Mine is better than Portugal's!" France sniffed it delicately and took a sip. "Ah, it's very nice, but I really should…"

Portugal smiled good-naturedly and offered France a glass of tawny port. "Here, try this França. You might find it more agreeable than Sp—" But he broke off, as France had hurried away to confiscate both England's and Sealand's liquor.

"Bruder, can I have some wine?" Litchenstein inquired timidly. Switzerland, from the upstairs hall, looked down on the scene in the atrium grimly, emptying his glass into a nearby potted plant. "I'd rather you not, Lilly."

Belgium glanced up at the two siblings, sipping from her cup, and scoffed. "Basch is such a killjoy." She nudged Luxembourg. "David? Isn't he?" Luxembourg shifted his feet and answered without much conviction, "Ah, yes, of course." He cleared his throat, leaning heavily against the column. "Um, do you think…" He looked pointedly at Monaco, who appeared to be amassing a significant sum among the tipsy nations, but wandered off to find more alcohol when he saw his sister was consumed by the matter of her rivalry.

Suddenly there was an loud splash, followed by complete silence, save for Austria's quiet sobbing over his late piano. Everyone paused, glancing towards the impluvium, to see that Turkey and Greece had gotten into a drunken brawl in the shallow pool. Then everyone immediately resumed their raucous drinking and chatter.

Egypt stood quietly in a corner, sipping a glass of water, when it was suddenly knocked out of his hands and replaced with a crystal goblet of a bubbling green…substance. Egypt glanced around curiously, when an explosion of smoke occurred at his feet, and a demon with glowing red eyes, chanting suspiciously occult-ish incantations, emerged from the mist.

"Ah, hello Romania." Egypt half-smiled mysteriously.

"Hiya. Fancy filling the hall with pink smoke and turning everyone into the opposite gender?"

Egypt shrugged. "Have you been forced into the Empire?" He asked casually, sipping the potion.

"Something like that. Now that half of Europe is under Roman control, I didn't have much of a choice…" Romania rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"I was tossed into an arena to fight lions and tigers and bears. " Egypt remarked nonchalantly, swirling his glass and gazing into the potion.

Romania cringed. "Oh m—"

"DON'T."

Romano was hanging off Romania's shoulders, glaring blearily at the two dabbling magicians.

"Err…" both Egypt and Romania awkwardly began to tug at Romano, trying to unlatch him without leaving his skull to the mercy of the hard marble floor, without much success.

Spain appeared behind them, merrily guzzling his sangria and appearing not to suffer too much from its effects, and lifted Romano off of Romania's shoulders and onto his own. "I'll take him off your hands! Vamos, amorcito, let's find somewhere that Portugal—" He paused to shoot a dirty look across the atrium, "—won't be such a showy bastard."

Romano, piggy-backing half-consciously on Spain, burbled incoherently at Egypt and Romania, who, despite being extremely uncomfortable with the situation, weren't fond of the idea of babysitting a sloshed Romano all evening, and so allowed Spain to cart him away.

"A toast!" Italy called from the center of the room, "Merry Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas!" came the roaring reply.

"BEATUS SATURNALIBUS!" Rome burst into the room, jubilantly waving a legion standard and bearing a crown of laurel leaves.

Everyone fell silent, fascinated by the ceiling, the floor, or their wine.

Suddenly there was a poof of pink smoke, and Egypt had boobs.


	6. Romulus and Remus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hola! So…this is somewhat common knowledge, (especially among we who consume an unhealthy amount of Hetalia fanfiction) but vaffanculo is a very bad word in Italian! You may be wondering why! It's because it roughly translates to "Fuck off!", "Go fuck an ass!" or, "Go get fucked in the ass!" or so the internet tells me. If there are any native Italian speakers, please correct me. Also, I'm not stating this at the beginning of this particular chapter for any particular reason.

Romano was perched on a large rock at the beach in Amalfi, sunning himself, dipping his feet in the water, and hoping to catch the eye of the local girls when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

* * *

**Hola amorcito! :D**

**Let's have a date today! We could go swim with the turtles! Or we could go shopping!**

**Or we could lounge around in bed all day…**

**top or bottom ;) ?**

* * *

Romano shuddered and quickly buttoned up his shirt, hopping off his perch and splashing into the ankle-deep water.

* * *

**Veni I need help!**

With what, fratello? Anger management?

…

**Vaffanculo.**

Well I'd love to, but Germany isn't replying to my texts.

**Oh my god.**

What was it you needed help with, fratello?

**um**

**clearly now is not a good time**

**we should probably just talk later.**

Ciao!

* * *

"How could you let this happen?"

England placed his fountain pen on his desk and regarded Northern Ireland sternly. "You watch your tone. And you try managing all of you lot. You'll find it's far more difficult than you presume."

Scotland scoffed and ran a hand through his messy red hair. "I'm not bowing to any Caesar."

"I don't see why either of you are so upset," Wales muttered into his tea, green eyes narrowed in restrained irritation. "It's England and I who are being re-conquered."

"Yea? Well he might as well all of us, seeing as we're fucked without England's military."

"Allistair…" England warned, reading glasses slightly askew.

"Well, we are fucked!" Northern Ireland shouted, throwing his arms in the air.

Wales and Scotland went dead quiet as England glowered up at Northern Ireland. England exhaled and spoke slowly. "You will leave the conversation if you cannot conduct yourself as an adult."

Northern Ireland hissed in frustration and marched out, slamming the study door as he went, leaving the island of Great Britain alone in the study.

"Ungrateful little sod, he is."

"If you'd watch your language around him, we could've avoided this whole situation! He's impressionable, and he's learned his attitude from you!" England exploded.

"Are you kidding me? It's Ireland's fault! It's a fair sight y'didn't lose North in twenty-two either!"

"Well, seeing as you were so eager to go earlier, this is the perfect opportunity, isn't it? I just hope you have fun managing your whole goddamn country by yourself, and doing all my shitty paperwork, because you can't just sit on your FUCKING ARSE and eat FUCKING HAGGIS all FUCKING DAY!"

"Well Christ, It'd sure fucking help if you listened to me in Parliament, and didn't hold my goddamn pensions hostage, and weren't generally such a CONDESCENDING, PREACHY, ENGLISH DICK!"

"Ahem."

England and Scotland paused.

Wales strode over to the study door and yanked it open, Northern Ireland stumbling into the room.

England groaned and hid his face in his hands. Scotland guffawed, then quieted. "Weeeeeeeell…Fuck."

* * *

"I think you should maybe see a psychiatrist." Portugal suggested casually, reclining on the couch.

Spain cocked his head, pretty green eyes wide. "What for?"

"Your…fixation on marrying Romano."

"I don't think it's an issue."

"Literally everyone begs to differ."

Spain pouted and kicked the coffee table. "Like Luxembourg. Stupid Luxembourg."

"What about Luxembourg?"

"At the party last night! Romano finally wasn't struggling, but stupid Luxembourg took him away from me before I could get him back to my house!" Spain whined regretfully.

"Espanha!" Portugal turned sideways to gape at his brother, horrified. "No! Bad! No means no!"

Spain's darkened instantly, the beginnings of a tantrum apparent. **"** YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!" He screamed, stomping his feet and throwing his fists against the leather upholstery. "I'M AN ADULT!"

"Exactly! Errrm…you can't marry Romano because you raised him, and that would be weird."

"I'M NOT A PART OF YOUR SYSTEM!"

"No, of course not…but he's obviously repulsed by the idea of engaging in a relationship with you…"

"YOU MUST THINK I'M A JOKE!"

"Are you just—" Portugal paused, incredulous. "Are you just quoting 'Threw it on the Ground'?"

"What's that?"

"Oh, nothing. Anyway, since all you're doing is embarrassing yourself and making everyone else extremely uncomfortable, I am taking the inititive to tell you that you're being a creepy bastard."

"B—but…what about amor?"

"It's fine as long as you're not being a creepy fuck."

"But we're in love, and we're going to get married once he finally stops trying to escape!"

Portugal nearly screamed in frustration. "ISN'T THE FACT HE'S CONSTANTLY TRYING TO ESCAPE AN IDICATION THAT HE DOES NOT LOVE YOU? ALSO EVERYONE THINKS YOU'RE A PEDO! EVERYONE! ROMANO INCLUDED! WHY CAN'T YOU JUST GO FUCK A TOMATO OR ANY OF THE OTHER LITERAL MILLION THINGS THAT RECIPROCATE YOUR FEELINGS MORE THAN ROMANO DOES? JESUS!"

Spain sniffed, tears beading in the corners of his eyes. "Fine! You don't have to be so mean!"

Portugal exhaled heavily and buried his face—still a little red from his outburst—in his hands. "Welcome to the real world, jackass."


	7. Ex Nihilo Nihil Fit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ex Nihilo Nihil Fit - Basically, you can't get anything done without putting in work.

"Ve~ what you need to do is to get over your denial that you like butt sex, and get under a hot guy."

"Who says I wouldn't top?" Romano huffed and crossed his arms. There was a long pause, after which he blurted frantically, "And I don't like butt sex, or hot guys!"

"Well, what other options do you have?"

"Belgium! Belgium's a girl! And Hungary, and Liechtenstein, and Ukraine, and Monaco…and don't forget Taiwan and Vietnam! And, of course…B-Belarus too…"

"Ve~ hate to break it to you, but your sad, desperate attempts at seduction have long since turned Belgium off. And Hungary's with Austria, and Taiwan is with Vietnam, and Liechtenstein and Monaco are underage, and Russia watches Ukraine like a hawk, and Belarus…is Belarus."

"W-what's wrong with Belarus?" Romano whimpered. "I-I think she's a very nice girl."

"Fratello, don't stick your dick in crazy. Belarus would chop it off."

Romano sniffed pathetically. "Okay, so what do I do now?"

Veneziano chuckled to himself, somewhat self-satisfied. "Don't you mean, _who_ do you do now?"

Romano cringed but remained cowed into silence. Veneziano cleared his throat awkwardly. "Okay, so I've taken the liberty of making of a list of countries to seduce. All of them are guaranteed to get Spain off your ass once you're dating."

Romano scanned the list. "Portugal! What—"

Veneziano clicked his tongue and commanded, "Just keep reading, fratello." Romano afforded his brother a suspicious sideways glance, but continued.

"Portugal, France, Netherlands, Luxembourg, Greece, Turkey, Egypt…and Russia?!"

"I took care to make sure they were in the empire so that Spain couldn't attack them! Ve~ I have good ideas sometimes!"

Romano choked out, "But why Russia?"

"Ah, well, even Spain's terrified of Russia!"

"I'm terrified of Russia!"

"But piroshkies are so good, and you'd get all the vodka you could ask for, so you'd always be drunk enough to forget that you're sleeping with Russia!"

"You make an excellent point." Romano conceded, somewhat bitterly.

Veneziano grinned, though as a thought occurred to him, it quickly dimmed. "Ve~"

"What?"

"I don't think this will work though…"

"Why? Romano inquired, visibly panicked. "If this doesn't work, I have no other way to get rid of Spangna…"

"It's just that…well…despite being an Italian, your seduction skills are…" Romano glared with frightening intensity, but Veneziano continued bluntly and obliviously, as usual. "Well…they're crap."

* * *

Three Brits, two sober and one completely wasted, lounged in a dark corner of the atrium, looking on balefully at the third raging party of the week, as Egypt approached.

"It's a bit isolating, isn't it?"

"Tch, nah, s'not so great bein' part o' thuh con'nent! We' doing juuuuust fine 'ere, yea?"

Wales raked his hands through his chestnut hair. "Please excuse him. He will be attending an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting within the next few weeks…he…he has got a serious problem."

"Ah, I understand." Egypt sunk down beside them. "Here, have some water."

"It won' turn me inna a womaaaaan…will eh?"

"At least if you were a woman you could get men to buy you your drinks." Sealand muttered sideways. England squinted. "Ey. Ey. Cheeky li'le bugger." He gulped down the water, too late though, because he was soon passed out on his elder brother, snoring lightly.

Suddenly trumpets blasted through the atrium, disrupting the dull roar of the party. The Roman Empire burst into the hall, smiling broadly with shiny white teeth. "ATTENTION! I HAVE AN ANNOUNCEMENT TO MAKE."

Everyone listened in hushed anticipation. What would it be? Was it a plan to conquer new territories outside of the empire? Had Rome finally overcome his fear of flushing toilets? Maybe it could even be a lifetime's supply of condoms for everyone?

"Ve~ Someone gets to have sex with fratello!" Veneziano piped up to the immediate uproar of the crowd of nations.

"WH-WHAT HE MEANS IS, IS IN SEVEN DAYS—IS…ALRIGHT, EVERYONE SHUT UP!"

Everyone shut up.

"IN SEVEN DAYS, THERE WILL BE A PARTY—"

"What a surprise." Wales muttered from the non-mainland corner.

"THERE WILL BE A PARTY, AND ROMANO WILL CHOOSE SOMEONE TO DATE, AND ALSO MAKE PASSIONATE LOVE TO, AND MAYBE SETTLE DOWN AND HAVE A COUPLE KIDS WITH, AND TO GROWN OLD TOGETHER WITH, SO ANYONE WHO IS INTERESTED HAD BETTER SEIZE THE OPPORTUNITY!"

The hall erupted into gossip again as Romano tugged on the Empire's cloak and whispered loudly. "Don't forget, except Spain."

"OH, RIGHT, ER—EXCEPT SPAIN."

Suddenly there was a low growl from the crowd, and everyone fell deadly silent again. Spain stalked up to the Roman Empire, brandishing his iphone menacingly. Rome shrank back, trembling.

"Witchcraft, witchcraft…" He began to tear up.

Spain hissed predatorily, eyes darkened with fury. "HOW DARE YOU? HOW DARE YOU? LOVI AND I WILL BE TOGETHER, OR…I'LL…I'LL TURN ON MY PHONE, AND I'LL PLAY ANGRY BIRDS."

"No! No please!" Rome whimpered pathetically. "Anything! I'll give you anything you ask!"

"I WANT RO—" Spain suddenly sank to the ground, a bottle of Port shattering against his thick, but not impervious, skull.

"Hehe, sorry about that…" Portugal tossed away the neck of the bottle, heaved his brother up and dragged him slowly out of the Atrium as the other nations stared.


	8. The Greco-Turkish Invasion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Unexpectedly, Greece and Turkey kick off the competition for Romano's heart by invading his bedroom.

"Well, hello Roma…" Turkey purred in his left ear. Romano yelped and jumped slightly. "How did you get in my house, bastard?" Turkey ignored him and wrapped his arms around Romano's waist, resting his chin on the top of his head almost affectionately, despite Romano's obvious attempts to elbow him in the stomach. Suddenly Romano was yanked from his grasp and into the arms of none other than Greece. Romano howled in frustration and tried to kick Greece in the shin. "How did _you_ get into my house too?"

"You asshole! I had it first!"

"Come and get it, bitch!"

Greece threw Romano unceremoniously over his shoulder and dashed up the stairs, Turkey in hot pursuit. Turkey chased Greece through the upstairs hall and into the master bedroom, where he managed to grab Romano's legs. What resulted was a vicious game of tug of war, both combatants screaming insults at each other and Romano screaming insults at both of them, his family, and the universe in general for putting him in this situation.

They collapsed on the floor, Romano trapped underneath them, and began to wrestle and claw furiously, still shrieking abuse at each other. Romano gasped for air, and, after much wriggling, somehow managed to heave himself out of the disaster zone. Breathing heavily, he made the sign of the cross as he fled the bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

**Veni**

what?

**I think they're still going at it**

**either that or they finally killed each other, cuz they havnt left**

Ve~ Go check! I want to know too.

**If u wanted me dead so bad u could of just told the potato bastard to kill me**

…

**Oh…sorry…I forgot.**

**Wanna marathon GoT when u visit next?**

**I'll pay for all the snacks.**

Ve~ okay fratello…

**And I'll make the pasta too, okay!**

Yay! See you soon, fratello!

* * *

Romano began to creep up the stairs. Halfway up, he began to hear a strange, rhythmic thumping accompanying the usual screaming and threats. _It couldn't be…_

Romano bolted downstairs and grabbed his holy water, bible, and rosary.

He took a deep breath and began his ascent again, this time making it all the way up the stairs. His left eye began to twitch as he tiptoed down the hallway, the noises seeping out from under the bedroom door magnifying as he neared.

He shook in terror. Shielding his eyes with his Bible, he threw open the door. Thrusting his rosary in front of him, he cried out fervently, "BEGONE, YE HEDONISTS! RETURN TO THE VOID FROM WHENCE YOU CAME AND RETURN NEVERMORE! HOPEFULLY ALSO DON'T HAVE SEX IN MY BEDROOM WITHOUT PERMISSION ANYMORE! THAT'S REALLY RUDE YOU GUYS, I WOULD REALLY APPRECIATE IT IF YOU DIDN'T DO THAT IN THE FUTURE!" He paused, slightly out of breath, before remembering that he was the tsundere character, and punctuated his declaration. "BASTARDS!"

"That's a little hypocritical, don't you think?" Turkey queried, cocking his head.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN."

"He has a point, Roma, it's also pretty rude to just barge in without knocking."

"YOU BROKE INTO MY HOUSE."

"You could at least let me finish though." Greece coughed, looking pointedly.

"OH MY GOD. " Romano's voice rose an octave as he stumbled out of the doorway.

"Would you mind closing the door on your way out?"

"YOU'RE FUCKING. IN MY BEDROOM."

"And you're intruding on it! Get out!" Turkey growled and launched a pillow in his direction, catching the door and slamming it shut.


	9. The Entente Cordiale vs. Syphilis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> France and England want to form an alliance with Romano.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I haven't updated in forever because AP classes are slowing draining any sense of childhood whimsy and joy I may have once had. They're also the reason this chapter is extra salty.

"Isn't this just a repeat of the Turkey/Greece incident?" Romano leaned back in his chair, huffing.

"Ohon hon hon…of course not, mon cher…"

"THEN WHY ARE YOU BOTH HERE."

England, blushing furiously, sipped his Earl Grey with dainty sexual repression, his usual fashion. "Imbecilic Frog! I told you—". France reached over and pressed a finger to England's lips. "Allow me to explain, _non_?". England turned even redder and shook his head in disapproval, reclining in his chair and crossing one leg over the other, but remained silent.

"Romano, you are aware that I am… _le pays d'amour_?" France simpered. Romano coughed and sputtered, but nodded reluctantly.

"You were correct, that England and I are passionate, committed, and occasionally sexually adventurous _amoureux_."

"When I got here, you were having a quickie in the bushes—"

" _Very_ passionate lovers _. Les plus passionn_ é _s_." France bobbed his head up and down in saccharine agreement, pressing both hands over his heart, eyes moistening at the corners. England's face was really red at this point. How red? Bright, firetruck-tsundere-tomato-red. More _in the red_ than even Spain, Portugal, and the Italies combined.

"Well—" France paused.

_Note to the 13 year olds inevitably reading this:_ _Hi! You probably shouldn't be reading this, because I write the word "fuck" a lot, and I make a lot of sexual jokes! Wait, who am I kidding, it's fine! None of you even know what sex is, right? Silly me! That aside, being "in the red" means that you're in debt, and if you're not in debt, you're "in the black". Okay kiddies, continue! And if your mom asks what you're reading, don't ever tell her the truth, because then she won't love you anymore!_

"—when one has so much _amour_ , well you must…share it." France grinned devilishly.

And by the way people, England's face is still red. Oh, and Romano is blushing a lot by this point too. Did I forget to tell you that? Just assume that their faces are continually bright red, like they have some sort of semi-serious medical condition that they should really have looked at by a professional, mmmkay?

"W-WHAT ARE YOU INSINUATING?" (Romano had inherited a rare genetic disease from the Roman Empire that left him especially susceptible to slipping into all caps.)

"Ah…sweet, innocent Roma. Tell me, _mon petit_ , do you know what a _ménage à trois_ is?

At this, England's poor, repressed little Victorian heart couldn't handle the stress, and he bolted from the scene, with only a hasty backwards cry of "Mybutlookatthetime,Imustbegoing!GodsavethequeenandGoddamntheFrogs!"

Romano buried his burning face in his hands while France chuckled.

"Ah, _mon petit anglais_ …he is…how do you say? Lovably repressed."

"You knew exactly how to say that!"

" _D'accord…_ straight to the point, aren't we? Likewise, _Angleterre_ and I were wondering if you would like to share one of our nights of… _Amour."_ France waggled his eyebrows "seductively". Romano froze in the viscous awkwardness of the Parisian air, awkwardly inching his chair away from the table while his eyes awkwardly darted over anywhere that wasn't France.

France, of course, was accustomed to his seductees being unable to formulate a response when faced with the opportunity to make love to the radiant Adonis that was the French Republic. Accordingly, he did what he always did, and demonstrated his "skill" while he waited for Romano's brain to switch back on. He was practically fellating his éclair, and Romano nearly at the edge of the pavement, when England rushed back onto the scene.

"I'd…er…I'd like to withdraw myself and France. Terribly sorry!" He muttered hastily at Romano as he retrieved his jumper and reached over to drag France away.

"But Arthur, how long has it been since we had a threesome? It has been a decade, at least!" France whined pleadingly, tugging on England's arm.

"Alright, well you can go do it with the rest of the pervert trio, because I will not participate in this—this—debauchery!"

" _Mon petit,_ but we are a team!"

"We most certainly are not! I don't recall—"

"THERE ARE NO TEAMS, FUCKWADS!" Romano broke out of his shocked stupor to interrupt an increasingly belligerent England. "THIS ISN'T FUCKING (dancing) WITH THE STARS!" Romano whirled on England, "YOU! WE ALL KNOW VERY WELL HOW YOU KEEP A STIFF UPPER LIP, BECAUSE YOU'VE GIVEN HALF OF US THE NELL GWYNN TREATMENT!" England squeaked indignantly and crossed his arms. "AND YOU!" France leaned away from Romano's accusatory finger. "YOU BRAG CONSTANTLY ABOUT YOUR BAGUETTE, BUT WE ALL KNOW THE TRUTH IS THAT—JUST LIKE YOUR WORKFORCE—IT'S ALWAYS ON STRIKE! THE BOTH OF YOU ARE FAKE BASTARDS WITH THE SEXUAL WHEREWITHAL OF A DEAD FISH!"

The Anglo-Franco team froze.

France coughed. "How rude. Wouldn't you say _, mon amour_?"

England huffed and straightened up. "Yes, very much so, I would say! Why, the nerve!"

France nodded solemnly, pulling on his blazer. "The nerve!"

"Quite! Why, I think we owe him not a second more of our time!"

France retrieved his keys from his pocket. "Not a second more! Why, we should just walk right out and have a romantic dinner."

"I do concur!"

France rose from the table. " _D'accord_! And it would be such a shame waste the hotel room."

"Such a shame! He's well rude to cause us such an inconvenience!"

France hummed in agreement, pulling England along by his coat sleeve and unlocking the classic Peugeot Cabriolet. "Such an inconvenience! Why, to make up for it, you had better give me fellatio."

"Agreed! How do you like that, lad? Serves you, being a right surly little bastard! And I'll have you know, I don't have a single venereal disease! Not one! I didn't even get syphilis when everyone else in Europe was wearing holes in their brains!"

While England railed against an increasingly timid Romano, France tugged him into the passenger seat and buckled his seat belt.

"And last I checked, my Pound Sterling is doing quite well! You must be the same in the Eurozone?" France winced as he started the car. "I bet you're not packing in the pasta so well now, heh?"

Romano sat in front of the cafe, cradling his cold expresso, as the antique car sped off. He grimaced at his cup as the last strains of "GET STUFFED YA SPICY MEATBALL OF A WANKER!" faded into the roar of Parisian traffic.

* * *

So.

**So?**

England and France showed up as a team.

**Hoe did it go?**

***How**

Veni

**Ve~?**

Did you have syphilis?

**...**

**Did you?**

...

Yeah.

**Me too.**


	10. Red Means Go!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Romano and Netherlands: first real date of the tournament!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just had a burger and I'm happy, so this chapter will be a less salty and more fluffy. Also, we may have a serious contender! Starting from now, if anyone wants a particular 'Mano ship in a chapter, let me know and I'll probably write it! :)

"Oh, thanks."

Netherlands hmphed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Least I could do."

Romano sniffed the enormous bouquet of red and white tulips, thick, bright green stems bound by a ribbon, and couldn't help but smile. "Uh…really. I appreciate it."

Netherlands chuckled awkwardly and flushed a little. "You're being really…nice."

"Er…yeah? Normally I'd power up to Super Saiyan tsundere, throw these undoubtedly expensive flowers in the gutter and storm off, but after my last two…uh…dates, I'm too goddamn tired."

"Oh. I'm glad, then." The Netherlands coughed lightly. "Do you want to grab something to eat?"

"Sure."

* * *

"How the fuck did we end up here?"

"Honestly, I have no idea."

"It's your city, dumbass!"

"Hmmm…" Netherlands ran a hand through his pale blonde hair, stained by the red light spilling from the many windows onto the street.

"Ugh. Let's get out of here."

"Hey now, what's wrong with it?"

"There's—there's brothels everywhere!"

"Huh. Well we all do know how the Italians are famous for hating sex." Netherlands smirked.

Romano sighed. "Point taken. It's just that it makes me think of work, and the red lights give me a splitting headache anyway. Do you know how difficult it's been to manage the prostitution in Rome? It's everywhere! It's both great and terrible for tourists…" He mused, brow creased in irritation.

"Heh. You could say it's driving you up… _De Wallen_?"

Romano snorted as he tried in vain to hold back his laughter. "You're not funny, bastard. I'll push you into the canal if you don't watch out."

The Netherlands laughed exuberantly, throwing back his head. The harsh red light outlined his profile, caught in the hollow of his neck and pooled over his clavicles, and Romano had to look away to hide the fact that he was blushing redder than the district's lights.

"Hey. I'm sorry—" He paused when he saw Romano was staring at the red light reflecting off the dark water of the canal. He brushed the opposite corner of Romano's jaw in a bid for his attention, and Romano jumped, turning back to face him. "Really. I'm sorry, I didn't even realize where we were going, I was really absorbed in talking with you."

"H—heh. I am the best at conversation, dumb bastard. You should've known that beforehand."

"You are."

"Hey." Romano puffed out his cheeks, avoiding eye contact again. "I'm fucking starving. Let's find a café, or somewhere to eat."

Netherlands exhaled as he smiled. "Okay. C'mon Roma." Soon they were weaving over the rain-slicked pavement, under the red lights, towards Amsterdam's best pub.

"Well, It's not actually the best pub in the city, but it is pretty damn good." Netherlands admitted over his shoulder as he clasped Romano's gloved hand, making him sputter in surprise.

Romano, panting slightly from being pulled along in the chilly air, inquired, "Th-then why are we even going there? Tch. Not worth my time—"

"Here we are!"

They stood in front of a modest, slightly worn down looking pub, which read _Louis Bar café de Dam_ on the red awning. Patrons milled around inside, packing what truly was the smallest pub in Amsterdam, the noise raucous.

"It's…uh…"

"It was the closest to where we were so…"

Romano, surprised into being polite, answered, "Oh, no, it's fine. I just thought it was going to be some special magical place that would change my life forever, you know."

"Well, it's just…I knew you were really hungry so…is it okay?" Netherlands cleared his throat and tugged at his tie nervously, all his bravado from before having fled him.

"Well, I mean, it's not like there's any prostitutes openly soliciting in here, so yeah. Let's eat here?"

"Yeah." Both the Netherlands and Romano sank into the sturdy wooden chairs under the weathered awning, relieved. "What do you want to eat?"

"Uh…Whatever you recommend?"

"Hmmm…kay."

Romano craned his neck to see out from under the awning, up at the fading dusk, and sighed as Netherlands ordered for both of them.

"What's wrong?" Netherlands asked, yawning.

Romano blinked sleepily, unable to stop himself from yawing as well. "Noooooth-ing. I just don't relish the prospect of the train ride back to Rome after this."

Netherlands sucked in his cheeks and peered pensively into the dimly lit bar's interior. "Yeah…that's too bad…"

"I mean, I could take a flight, but it's not like I'm America. My government doesn't let me run amok like a trust fund kid."

"Yeah…" Netherlands seemed to be staring into the middle distance and having difficulty swallowing.

"Hey. Hey!" Romano snapped his fingers in front of the Dutchman's face. "Snap out of it, our food is here!" Romano began to dig in enthusiastically as Netherlands stared blankly at his mulled wine, pale fingers wrapped around the warm cup.

"Netherlands? Are you okay?" Romano, in between bites, seemed to have gathered that Netherlands was preoccupied. " _Dio mio_ , do you have hypothermia? Fucking cold out here, c'mon—"

"You should stay here!" Netherlands suddenly burst out, reaching for Romano's wrist as he stood, but pulled back awkwardly at the last moment. Romano blanched. "Uh…well, like I just said, it's really fucking cold out here, so let's, uh…not do that?"

"No…I mean…" Netherlands bit his lip, hesitating, and Romano hid his smile behind his hand.

"You're kinda cute, _Paesi Bassi_."

"Heh? I'm cute?" Netherlands seemed taken aback.

"Er…yeah, in a stupid, dropped on your head as a child kind of way."

"Ah…of course." Netherlands chuckled. "Roma…"

"Tch. Yeah?"

"I meant, you could stay with me, in Amsterdam. I'll cover your flight back in the morning. Or, you know, whenever you decide to leave, I guess." Netherlands rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding eye contact with the nation who stood next to him.

There was a long silence. (There has to be, dramatic tension and shit like that, you know.)

When the silence had stretched out to an uncomfortably long length, Netherlands couldn't help but look down at Romano. And that cheeky motherfucker was on his phone.

"What the fuck?"

"What do you mean, what the fuck?"

"I mean, I just offered to have you stay with me, and you're on your phone. I mean, you know what I'm offering, right?"

"Actually, that was kind of unclear. I thought it was just an offer to sleep with you."

"Well, that too, but also, if you wanted to move in…"

"What? It's like our first date. I mean, I'm not particularly commitment averse, but I'm not ready to load up a U-Haul after the first date."

"Well, do you want to sleep with me then, or are you texting your next date?" Netherlands asked, bitterness tinging the question slightly.

When Romano didn't answer for a second, Netherlands was about ready to chuck that goddamn phone straight into the canal and leave Romano to meet up with his Grindr date or whoever the fuck he was texting.

"Hmmm…and done." Romano tilted the screen so Netherlands could see. "My dramatic reveal is completely ruined now, stupid, but why don't you take a look anyway?"

"Oh. You cancelled your train ticket."

"Yeah, I did."

"Well, this is awkward."

"Yeah, if you'd waited, like, five more seconds we could've avoided all this."

"So, I guess you're staying at my place?"

"I mean, I just cancelled my ticket, so…yeah?"

Netherlands cleared his throat and grabbed Romano's hand nervously. "Then let's go."

* * *

"How much farther? My feet are fucking freezing."

"Just a little bit. I only live a little outside of De Wallen."

Romano snorted and Netherlands quickly amended his statement, "Because it's so close to the center of the city!"

"Whatever, just hurry up, bastard. My whole face is cold. My lips are probably turning blue."

Netherlands paused and looked over his shoulder at Romano, who was rosy-cheeked and exhaling in puffs of breath that froze in the air, Italian flag scarf draped warmly over his shoulders. "Can I kiss you?"

"Uh, if you want, I guess."

Both stared at each other, warm red light casting their faces in shallow shadows, somewhat breathlessly, before Romano took the initiative to stand on his tip-toes, grab onto Netherland's shoulders, and press their lips together. It was a pretty granola kiss, not gonna lie.

When he pulled back, Netherlands scratched his head. "Thanks. But, um, I've been meaning to ask…didn't you have this thing where you kept denying you liked guys? I mean, I'm glad we have a thing going, but this all seems kind of out of the blue."

"Oh, yeah, well I changed my mind when I saw my first episode of _YoI_."

"Really?"

"No, I think the fanfic writer just forgot to write a chapter where I change my mind."

"Oh, okay. I'm just gonna pop into this shop and grab some lube, if that's cool with you?"

"Yeah, sure. I'll come with you, it's too fucking cold to stand around outside."

"Mmmmkay." Netherlands agreed as they linked hands.


	11. Crack! in a Bottle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, this time the fluff is somewhat angsty and somewhat crack-ish. Anyway, I made the Netherlands chapter a first-date-fluffy kind of chapter, but this one is more domestic fluffy.

Romano panted in surprise, beads of sweat rolling down the curve of his flushed neck and down his back, and rolled over in the sand.

"Fuuuuuck."

Portugal grinned cockily and collapsed next to him, saltwater lapping at their feet. "Best sex on the beach you've ever had?"

Romano stirred lazily and answered half-heartedly. "Tch. It wasn't that great."

"I'd say that you're lying, considering how…" Portugal retorted smugly as he traced slow circles in the sand. "…overeager you were."

"I was not!"

"I was only…eeh…halfway?—before you finished. I'd say that's overeager."

Romano reached up to brush away the sand sticking to one side of his face. "Fine, you win, bastard. Best sex on the beach I've ever had. Happy?"

"I guess so." Portugal shifted to lean on one of his arms and hang over Romano, casting a light shadow over his face. He licked his lips, playing with a strand of Romano's mussed hair. "Could you go for another round?"

Romano's breathing turned shallow and quick. "I mean…if you want." He mumbled, turning his face away from Portugal's gaze. "I don't really care one way or the other."

"Okay." Portugal replied breezily, picking himself up. "I'll go order two more. Do want something to eat too? It's better to eat while you drink, so you don't get drunk as fast. You know, so you can drink more."

"Yeah, thanks." Romano answered as Portugal dusted the sand from his clothes and hair.

"Don't worry about it." Portugal chuckled good-naturedly as he sauntered away. Romano groaned and rubbed his face with both hands once Portugal was out of earshot.

"What's wrong?"

"Gah." Romano jolted upright and squinted in the harsh sunlight. "Pico? What the fuck?"

"No, it's me, Sealand! Who's Pico?"

"…"

"What's a sex on the beach?"

"Why are you even here?"

"I ran away from home and washed up in Portugal! Surprisingly, this time my desperate plea for attention has been noticed, and the whole of the UK is going insane trying to find me! As we speak, England is organizing a search party whilst relapsing back into alcoholism for the second time this week, Wales is stress-shagging a sheep, and Scotland…uh, Scotland is just trying to leave the UK again, like he usually is."

"What about Northern Ireland?"

"Oh, he ran away too."

"I guess I never realized how easy Veni and I had it," Romano paused thoughtfully. "Well, being orphaned at a young age and foisted off to other countries to act as cleaning staff and all. At least we weren't raised by England. I should keep a closer eye on Marcello."

Sealand shrugged noncommittally. "Whatever. What's a sex on the beach? As a typical twelve year old, I don't get this reference, and at this point, probably think that you have just had actual sex on this actual beach."

"Oh, right. So sex on the beach, aside from being actual sex on an actual beach, is alcoholic beverage. It's very popular, especially in the summer." Romano explained. "But don't drink it before you're of legal drinking age, or you will die and be hastily buried in an unmarked grave next to all the other underage drinkers."

Sealand paled, wobbling on his feet. "I'm going to die then?"

Romano coughed. "Uh. Yeeeaah. Soooooooorrrrrrry...?"

Sealand collapsed face-first on the sand.

* * *

"I don't mind. I mean, I guess it's not technically fair since I don't get as much date time, but it's not a big deal."

"Er—thanks. I just didn't really know what to do…"

"Well, I heard France and England really screwed up, so I figure my chances are pretty good." Portugal casually raked his fingers through his curly hair. "How was your date with Netherlands?"

Romano hesitated. "It—it was fine."

" _Just_ fine?"

Romano sucked in a breath and answered cheekily. "Are you jealous?"

"Well, I wouldn't be so incredibly subtle if I wasn't, would I?"

Romano snorted. "I don't really understand why everyone in Europe is after my ass, I mean—"

At that moment, Sealand emerged noisily from the bathroom adjoining Portugal's living room, still clutching his stomach and looking green, tear tracks lining his cheeks.

"Oh, _baixinho_ **,** are you still not feeling well?" Portugal rushed over to check Sealand's temperature as Romano hurried to the kitchen for a glass of water.

Sealand shook his head miserably and wiped his nose on his sleeve. "S'it…s'it the alcohol? Am I gonna die?" Portugal gasped and shook his head furiously, gathering the much smaller nation into his arms and carrying him to the couch. "No no no, little one! It's a case of heat exhaustion brought on from being in the sun so long, which itself is due to your running away, and that's a result of the rampant parental neglect in your household…" He slowed, calculating how to dig himself out of the hole he had created,"But you'll be just fine by tomorrow morning!"

"But I nicked three bottles of whiskey from England's happy cabinet…" Sealand croaked as Romano shoved a glass of water under his nose.

Portugal was quick to assuage his fears, smiling reassuringly. "It happens to all of us. You know, when Spain and I were about your age, we snuck into Rome's wine cellar and drank so much that we vomited for hours upon hours—" He broke off to chuckle fondly. "—and still have critical liver damage to this day!"

Romano wrinkled his nose and squinted. "Are there any of us in Europe that don't have some level of alcohol dependency?"

Portugal laughed with gusto before a growl from Sealand's stomach caught his attention and he sobered. "Hmmm…Switzerland maybe? He's always been a bit of the odd one out. Do you want something to eat, Sealand? Or do you want to go to sleep? I'll go make dinner, and then you can go to bed. How's that?"

Sealand nodded, detaching himself from Portugal and tumbling onto Romano's lap, the former whistling a cheerful tune as he waltzed into the kitchen prepare the meal. Romano sighed heavily as Sealand snuggled into his arms, sniffling. "I'm so sorry _patatino_ …I forgot to tell you…uh… that...that…there's an exception to the death by underage drinking rule!"

"There's an exception?" Sealand brightened, raising his head from Romano's shoulder to peer hopefully up at the older nation.

"Yeah! It…uh. It doesn't count if it's whiskey!"

"Oh…I…I snuck some wine at the party the day before yesterday too…so I—" Sealand began to tear up again. "I really am g-gonna die and be hastily buried in an unmarked g-grave!"

Romano sputtered for a moment before regaining his momentum. "B-but I forgot to tell you, wine doesn't count either! Like big brother baguette sucker says, 'drunk doesn't count if you're drunk on wine!'"

"B-but I also drank the bottle of rum Portugal had stashed in his medicine cabinet!"

"Jesus, kid! Is that why you were throwing up just now?"

"That and the heat exhaustion both."

"I-I really don't know what to say. England should bring you to an AA meeting or something…"

Sealand rubbed his nose and replied matter-of-factly. "Oh, England doesn't go to AA meetings, he just goes to Wales' house to cry on his shoulder while France cries on the couch at home to Prussia and Spain."

"Y-you should be in foster care or something…"

Sealand laughed cheerfully and burbled, "I know right! Alcoholism is tearing my family apart to the point where there is no solution other than legal recourse to divert an inevitable tragedy!"

At this point, the clattering and bubbling in the kitchen slowed. Portugal strode jauntily out of the kitchen, apron hanging loosely from his frame and a large wooden spoon in hand, and announced cheerfully, "Dinner's ready! Come and eat!"

Romano cleared his throat awkwardly and playfully slung Sealand over his shoulder. "Okay!" He called lightly. "We're both starving, so it better be good, bastard!"

* * *

Portugal and Romano leaned on opposite sides of the doorframe, light from the hallway seeping into the dark bedroom where Sealand was sound asleep. Portugal pinched the bridge of his nose. "Goddamn."

"Yeah."

"He probably needs to talk to a pediatrician."

"And a child psychiatrist."

"A priest too, maybe?"

"Noooooo. Him around the communion wine?"

Portugal hummed in assent. "Good point."

"Maybe he needs a hobby? What about arts and crafts?"

"What if he huffs the glue? I think that's a no-go."

Romano groaned and Portugal reached across the space between them to pull him into a hug. "Hey, we were all alcoholics as children, and didn't we all turn out…uh…somewhat functional?"

"To varying degrees, yes."

Portugal rested his cheek on the top of Romano's head and sighed. "We'll deal with it later. C'mon. Let's just get some sleep, yes?"

"Ugh, yeah. Let's go."

* * *

But alas, for dramatic purposes, when they trudged wearily into Portugal's bedroom, they were met with an unpleasant surprise.

"What the fucking fuck?" Romano whisper-yelled.

Unsurprisingly, the unpleasant surprise was a thoroughly inebriated Spain, who was weeping softly and sniveling quietly into a towel that Romano had used to dry his hair.

"Look at you two traitors, p-playing house. H-how—" He hiccoughed resentfully, looking tearfully up at Romano and Portugal. "How could you?"

"How could we…?"

Spain's grieving increased in volume as he buried his face in the towel. "How could you steal my fiancé?" He moaned, muffled by Towel-mano. "And how could _you_ cheat on me with my brother?"

"Uh…" Portugal cocked his head. "I don't think—"

Romano yanked him out of the room and shut the door as softly as possible, so as not to wake Sealand sleeping just down the hall. "You should know by now not to negotiate with crazy. He'll just latch onto you and slobber all over your face." There was a long silence in the hallway outside the bedroom door, laid thickly over the muffled sobbing from inside the master bedroom.

"Portugal?"

"…"

Portugal seemed to be pondering something. "Did you sleep with Netherlands?"

"Wow. That was completely off topic."

Portugal shrugged. "I guess jealousy runs in the family? I mean, it wouldn't have mattered as much if I'd slept with you too, but we're both dead tired now, and the mood was basically ruined from the get go. Y'know. Vomiting kid five meters away and all."

"…"

"Romano?"

"…"

"Are you texting?"

* * *

**Fratello i need advice**

?

**Portugal just asked if I had sex with Netherlands what do I tell him**

The truth?

**I dont know**

What do you mean?

**I mean, he said hed buy lube and everything**

**But whether or not we actually had sex never got written soooo…**

Ve~ just distract Portugal with sex then

**…**

**Okay im doing it so if it goes wrong you buy me food**

* * *

He dragged Portugal back into the living room, shoved him onto the couch, and straddled him awkwardly.

"Mwah."

"…Uh. Thanks, but are you trying to avoid the question?"

Romano kissed him again, trying to infuse more of his natural Italian charm into the kiss this time.

"I don't unders—what are you doing?"

Romano shoved their faces together again, pressing him into the couch cushions. When he came up for air, Portugal grasped him by the shoulders, holding him in place.

"Could you hold on a second? What are you doing?"

"Um. Well I thought I wouldn't have to answer the question if I distracted you."

"You—" Portugal released one of Romano's shoulders to scratch his head. "You could've just said you didn't want to tell me. I wasn't going to interrogate you or anything. You didn't have to distract me."

"Oh, I didn't? Because Veni told me I should distract you...wiiiiiiiith seeeeeex...?" He questioningly reached for Portugal's crotch before Portugal shook his head, gently nudging Romano back.

"Roma, Veneziano has good intentions, but he doesn't really have a good problem-solving mentality."

"He doesn't?"

"No, he doesn't. Veneziano is a sex addict."

"He is?"

"How did he suggest you get rid of Spain?"

"...I see your point."

Romano and Portugal blinked at each other in the dim light. Portugal exhaled tiredly and pulled Romano against him as he collapsed on his side. "Let's just go to sleep now."

He pulled a thin blanket over both of them as Romano yawned into his chest and nodded sleepily.

" _Boa noite_ , Lovino."

" _Buona Notte_ , Paulo."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for any suggestions you've made, by the way! I'm really busy with school right now, but I guarantee at new stuff is coming down the pipeline at some point!


	12. Auribus Teneo Lupum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Auribus Teneo Lupum - Holding a wolf by the ears. Basically, stuck between a rock and a hard place, in which doing something and doing nothing are equally risky or harmful courses of action.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe, I guess no one thought I was going to write a SpaMano chapter, but here it is. I started this chapter with Portugal kind of infringing on Spain's Roma time, but I felt like I had to resolve the last chapter. Also, this one gets a tad bit angsty, so I hope the change in tone isn't too jarring! Let me know!

" _B-bella_?"

" _Hallo_ , Roma." Belgium smiled seductively, flipping her wavy blonde hair and beckoning to Romano.

Romano trembled, stumbling toward her, almost not daring to believe it. "Emma? Does this mean…?"

"Yes!" She reached out her arms to Romano, golden hair blowing back in the wind. "I do love you!"

Romano hesitated.

"—and you're straight!"

He bounded toward her outstretched arms eagerly, having waited so long to kiss her rosy lips and hold her in his own manly, muscular, manly arms. But before the two very attractive, very heterosexual lovers could embrace, Romano was blinded by a searing white light and thrown back from his lovely muse by an invisible force.

"Gah." Romano shot awake, then collapsed back onto his stomach, raking his hands roughly through his hair.

"Oof."

Romano shifted onto his elbows and raised his head from Portugal's chest to see what had made the noise. It was Portugal.

"Oh, Roma, you're up."

Romano looked down at his crotch.

"No—no, I what I meant is that you're—you know what, never mind. Do you want some breakfast?"

"Su—" Romano's phone buzzed. "Oh, sorry. Just a second."

* * *

Ciao fratello!

**uh im kinda busy right now**

Too busy for a date with Emma?

**didnt u tell me my obvious gayness turned her off**

**?**

She had a change of heart?

Anyway, she said to meet her in Brussels tomorrow.

Ciao!

* * *

"Well, what do you think?"

"I kind of have a conflict of interest, so…"

Romano propped himself up, yawning and stretching. "Weeeeeeeell, I don't know. Do you guys want me to write a RomaBel chapter? I was planning to write one, but my sister doesn't really like the pair, sooooooo…? Hetero-talia, _s_ _í_ _o no_?"

"Who are you talking to?" Portugal hummed lazily, absentmindedly running his hands up and down the sides of Romano's torso.

Romano squirmed, being slightly ticklish. "I don't know. I just felt this sudden compulsion."

Portugal groaned as he sat up, wrapping his arms around Romano, who buried his face in his chest. "Okay…I _personally_ think you should stay here and cuddle with me, and then we could have breakfast and lounge around on the beach like we wanted to yesterday. And later…" He purred, twirling Romano's curl around his index finger and eliciting a shaky, startled gasp.

"O-okaaaay! You convinced me."

Portugal suddenly burst out into deep, round peals of laughter that resounded off the walls of the living room, disrupting the relative quiet of before. Romano turned bright red and jerked away from Portugal's embrace. "W-what is it, asshole!"

Eyes tearing up slightly at the corners as he chortled, Portugal playfully drew Romano back into the hug. "Oh my god Roma!" He giggled hysterically, "You're _up_!"

"W-well?" Romano growled, trying to regain at least some small shred of his dignity. "Are you going to do anything about it, or just sit there laughing like an idiot?"

Portugal instantly snapped to attention.

* * *

"A-ahhhh!" Romano shuddered.

Portugal panted huskily and _______________________________, while Romano_______________________. Then Portugal tugged __________________ and _____________________. "Y—yes! Yes! There!" And then __________________.

* * *

And as a result, they had an orgasm(s).

But sadly, their blissful post-coital cuddling was interrupted by none other than _Me Llamo Yandere_. "Well, well, well…look what we have here. If it isn't a pair of filthy adulterers…"

Portugal froze as Romano yanked the thin blanket back over them.

Spain stared down at them stonily as he caressed the blade of the enormous axe. "Do you know what we used to do with adulterers back during my inquisition?"

Romano snarled in response as he attempted to covertly pull on his boxers under the blanket. "OBVIOUSLY I KNOW! I WAS THERE! WE WERE ALL THERE AT THE TIME!"

At the reprimand, Spain seemed to break, bottom lip quivering, and dropped his axe with a crash that had Portugal's real estate agent wincing. "A-after your betrayal, I-I stayed up all night, figuring out how to win y-you back, _mi amorcito_ …" He trailed off to wipe his nose on the sleeve of his old military coat, which was accustomed to bloodstains, but was entirely unprepared for the deluge of mucus that Spain now unleashed.

Spain's expression hardened as he drew some sort of amulet from his breast pocket, Romano watching him in rapidly growing concern while Portugal at last managed to zip his pants back up.

Spain 's eyes glinted menacingly as the bright, sunlit room darkened rapidly. "By the way, England wanted me to tell you something. Ahem. And I quote, 'I HOPE YOU DIDN'T TRY HIS ALFREDO SAUCE BECAUSE PORTUGAL HAS CHLAMYDIA YOU SPAGHETTI SUCKING WANKER!'" Spain sighed. "And that's about the gist of it."

Romano poked Portugal's crotch accusingly and glared up at him. "WHAT THE FUCK PAULO."

"I got it treated a month ago!"

Suddenly, Spain thrust the golden medallion into the air and shouted out a mysterious incantation as the room started to spin and stretch around them and Romano and Portugal continued to argue. At the last minute, he chimed in. "Well, England did a curse or something and now you have chlamydia! I didn't know you had it before though!"

Then everything faded to white and Romano's ears were filled with a shrill, ear-piercing whine.

* * *

"Wake up _lindo_ …look where we are!"

Lovino groaned and kept his eyes shut, rasping, "Who the fuck are you, _bastardo_?"

The strange man shrieked delightedly, much to Lovino's displeasure, and pulled Lovino happily into his arms. "It worked! Lovi, we're in an AU! We can be together now!"

Lovino peeled open his aching eyes and looked up at the clearly mentally unhinged stranger, mildly concerned, at this point, for his own safety. "Ugh, what's an AU? And who are you?"

"Oh, right! I'm Antonio, captain of the _Chiara,_ fastest clipper in the Caribbean! Nice to meet you!" He squinted out of the cave, at the ocean lapping at the pale sand, before returning his gaze to Lovino. "You look sooooo cuuuuute bundled up in my coat!" He nuzzled his hair happily, hooking his elbows under Lovino's arms to pull him closer. " _¡_ _Mi Lovinito!_ "

Lovino glared at the rays of sun that spilled into the dark, cool cave and slumped against Antonio, too groggy and uncomprehending to break his vice grip. Antonio hummed contentedly, his chin resting on the top of Lovino's head as they sat in the damp sand, propped against the cave wall. Antonio laced their fingers together, but after a few minutes, he sighed and remarked regretfully, "We should probably get going. I'd like to be out of here well before the tide comes in…besides, if this is a pirate AU, we're probably going to have hot, filthy pirate sex!"

"WHUT. WHUT DID YOU JUST SAY."

Antonio grinned seemingly obliviously; pulling his coat tighter around Lovino's shoulders and standing easily, even with his added weight.

"Phew! Boss hasn't been so strong in a while! Okay, let's go see my ship Lovi!"

Lovino sighed exasperatedly and gave in to the fatigue, shutting his eyes again and curling into Antonio's chest, too tired to care that he was allowing a suspicious man with a gold earring and a stupidly flamboyant hat to cart him away to what could very well be a floating murder shed.

* * *

"Good afternoon, sleepy-head!"

"Gah." Lovino woke suddenly to the definitely psychotic stranger from before, sitting on the edge of the bed and holding out a tray with a chipped clay bowl full of blood, and a spoon, as if he expected Lovino to eat it.

"I knew it! Oh, god, I knew it! G-get away from me!" Lovino clutched at his rosary and shrank back rapidly against the wall. " _Padre nostro, che sei nei cieli, sia santificato il tuo nome, venga il tuo regno, sia fatta la tua volontŕ come in cielo cosě in terra. Dacci oggi il_ _—_ "

Antonio chuckled amusedly. "Oh, Lovi, don't worry, it's just tomato soup!"

Lovino calmed only slightly. "J-just tomato soup?"

Antonio smiled reassuringly, reaching out to caress Lovino's hand, before thinking better of it. "Yes, just tomato soup, _mi cielo_. Say aaaaahhhh?" he held out a spoonful of soup out hopefully, pretty green eyes sparkling.

Lovino hesitated before his hunger won out over his fear, and opened his mouth silently.

"Good, good! You're so perfect Lovi!" Antonio gushed warmly as he fed Lovino.

As Lovino swallowed the last spoonful, he looked at Antonio cautiously. He was objectively handsome, bright green eyes glowing, framed by thick, dark lashes, deeply tanned skin, and a mop of curly, chocolate colored hair, as he looked down at the empty bowl contemplatively, a wistful expression worn heavily on his face. His golden crucifix and amulet, resting against his bare chest, glinted as they clinked against each other in the dim light of the cabin, and Lovino looked away, turning red. He wiped his mouth roughly with his sleeve and spoke.

"Thanks for feeding me. E-even though it was crap and not as good as the food back home."

"Oh, Lovi, _corazon_ …I love you so much…how could I not?"

Lovino fiddled with the bedsheet, avoiding eye contact.

Antonio grinned brightly, taking Lovino's hand and playing with his fingers. "And I mean, since we're in a pirate AU, I have to be either unrealistically nice or horribly abusive…I mean, unless you're into that kind of thing…? I could've sworn I have a whip around here somewhere…" He scratched at his five o-clock shadow awkwardly as he glanced around the captain's quarters.

Lovino jerked his hand away and slugged Antonio in the stomach, fleeing the bed as if it were on fire. "P-PERVERT!"

Antonio wheezed, cradling his abdomen as Lovino dashed out of the captain's quarters into the chilly night air. "W-wait Lovi! I didn't mean—"

He sighed, resigned, and flopped back down on the bed, waiting. It wasn't as if he could get far.

* * *

"Ow! Watch where you're going, stupid motherfucker!"

" _Pardonnez-moi_? If there's anyone who should be—" the well-dressed pirate with the blonde ponytail and the long blue coat cut off as Lovino fled, jaw set in irritation.

Lovino, however, only managed to just get out of sight of the first pirate before he ran straight into another moral scourge of society. "Oof. Watch—"

"The fuck you think you're goin' kid?" The pirate clapped a hand on Lovino's shoulder like a steep trap. Lovino looked up shakily, and faintly made the sign of the cross as he trembled. The pirate was a demon, white hair and eyes red like hell, a terrifying grimace on set on his pale, scarred face.

Lovino whimpered, "P-please! I have done no wrong! I have feared the lord! I have stolen, but only a little p-pickpocketing when times were tough! I have never murdered, o-or blasphemed, or engaged in sodomy!"

A man who appeared almost identical to Antonio, save for a mole under his right eye and the absence of his crucifix, emerged from below deck, and hummed knowingly. "Really, Roma?"

"Antonio? I don't—who's Roma?"

The demon snorted. "Ugh. Paulo, we got the captain's pretty boy here. Runnin' around like he owns the place. What's the punishment for that? Should we set him to swabbing?"

Paulo laughed and rubbed the back of his neck. "I think the captain would want to deal with this one."

* * *

The heavy, water-warped wooden door slammed behind him as Lovino was unceremoniously shoved inside, shutting him, once again, in a small space with the pervert/maybe cannibal. (Lovino still hadn't ruled that off the list.)

"Lovi, do you really think I'm a pervert?" A husky voice called mournfully from under a pile of blankets, lumped in the middle of the bed. Lovino crept across the small quarters warily, stopping in front of the bed and the talking lump of blankets. "Lovi…?"

Lovino yanked the blankets off of Antonio, who was curled up in the fetal position, examining some sort of amulet intently. Antonio looked up at Lovino with puppy-dog eyes. "Lovi?"

"Pfft." Lovino blew a stray strand out of his face as he avoided Antonio's pleading gaze. "I had a knee-jerk reaction to your easily misinterpreted statement. Stupid." He sighed. "But anyway, I don't hold it against—"

He yelped as he was pulled by the wrist into bed by overeager Antonio, who immediately wrapped his arms around Lovino tightly, pressing him into his chest. "I knew you weren't really mad! Oh, Lovi, could you be any more perfect?"

"Tch. Well, I am pretty great, I guess."

" _¡_ _Por supuesto!"_ He smiled wide and ruffled Lovino's hair. "Hmmmm…Lovi?"

"What, Bastard?"

"Promise not to punch me?"

"…"

" _¿_ _Amorcito?"_

"Yeah. Whatever."

"Can I kiss you?"

Lovino thanked God Antonio couldn't see his face. "O-okay. Just one, though, bastard."

Antonio pulled back, surveying Lovino's face as he tilted his chin up with one hand and pressed against the small of Lovino's back with the other.

" _Te amo tanto_." He leaned in, eyes closing.

Suddenly, Lovino jolted forward nervously and slammed their lips together, Antonio's eyes flying open in surprise.

* * *

Lovino woke slowly, lethargically, right shoulder aching slightly from sleeping in an odd position all night. He turned on his side to face the sleeping Antonio, looking angelic even in the dirty, yellow light of the cabin. The gleam of gold caught his attention as his gaze moved down.

While Antonio had carefully removed the amulet, his simple, heavy crucifix still hung around his neck. The thought gave Lovino pause as he curiously scanned the room for the jewel-encrusted amulet. There, on Antonio's desk. He peeked back at Antonio, but he was still sleeping soundly, snoring only barely audibly. Adorable…Lovino allowed himself to stare at his handsome profile for a second longer before he rose from the bed to retrieve the amulet.

Something about the amulet drew him toward it, the pull growing stronger as he crossed the room, the huge, polished green gem in the center of the amulet seeming to glow and pulsate. What was Antonio hiding?

As Lovino touched the amulet, he heard Antonio stir behind him. "Mmmmph…Lovi…" He whirled around, pulse pounding, as he prepared for the pirate's anger. He exhaled in relief. Antonio was only talking in his sleep. Lovino smirked. Must be a heavy sleeper.

As the amulet rested in his palm, Lovino thought he heard a faint voice, calling to him, urging him. The voice gradually got louder, the amulet almost buzzing in his palm, sending small waves of electricity through his body. The voice seemed to be repeating an incantation in a strange, foreign language, and Lovino felt both at once compelled to recite it back, and to throw the amulet down and crawl back into bed with Antonio.

Antonio roused awake as he heard Lovino's voice chanting some strange incantation. Before he could comprehend, however, the room stretched and distorted, and both occupants of the captain's quarters were overwhelmed by the blur of light and noise.

* * *

"Antonio! What did you do?" Romano's dismayed voice pierced Spain's sleep, waking him harshly.

Spain blinked, eyelids scratchy like sandpaper, and shifted to relieve the pain of cold marble, hard against his shoulder blades. " _¿_ _Que?"_

Veneziano stepped in front of Romano and hovered over Spain, eyes uncharacteristically dark with a threat. "Ve~ I'm gonna fucking kill you Spain..."


	13. Ketchup Goes on Top of Fries!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hetero-talia! I feel like I should have put this one near the beginning of the tournament, but there's no helping it now! Oh well! I apologise for the inevitable OOC-ness, both now and previously.

"Ugh. I just don't know. I mean, it sucked when _Nonno_ abandoned me and Feli, and it sucked when I had to flee my own goddamn SELF because of the mafia, and it REALLY sucked when Mussolini was screwing over the whole fucking country…"

Belgium hummed sympathetically, patting Romano's shoulder.

"…but it seems like life has been especially full of disappointments lately."

"Have you tried just taking a 'me day'? You know, take a bubble bath, buy yourself something nice, maybe consider importing some world class Belgian chocolate to put the icing on the cake, so to speak?"

Romano scoffed and took a swig from his bottle of Chianti (he needed the whole fucking bottle after the events of the previous chapter). "I—" He hiccupped and raked his bangs out of his face. "—am not a woman!"

Emma smirked wryly to herself and pounded her open hand against the counter repeatedly, turning back to Romano when she had gotten the barkeep's attention. "I never said you were, but you _are_ hopelessly entrenched in gender-normative ideals."

Romano considered it for a moment before bobbing his head from side to side in half-hearted agreement. "Alright. I see your point. I'm not having a bubble bath though…that's just too…gay." He chuckled as he shifted uncomfortably on his barstool, trying to relieve some of the soreness in his ass.

From Portugal's dick.

Emma groaned, exhaling in a puff. "You've managed to miss the point fantastically. Whatever. If your masculinity is so threatened by a bubble bath, we don't have to talk about it."

Romano rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, blushing lightly, and hurried to veer the conversation away from the subject at hand. "Soooooo…"

The chatter of the bar's patrons was deafening, and Belgium seemed too preoccupied to hear Romano.

Emma thanked the bartender and sipped at her chocolate liqueur. "Do you remember that time, when we were both territories of Spain, and you kept asking me to kiss you?"

Romano sputtered and lowered the bottle from his lips, furiously avoiding eye contact. "Er…yeah. I remember."

She tilted her head questioningly. "And when I offered you a kiss on the cheek, you ran away as red as a fucking tomato because you had a huge crush on me but couldn't admit it to yourself and even then had an enormous inferiority complex and inability to accept your feelings, made even worse by Spain's varying degrees of ineptitude as your guardian?"

"…Yep. I remember that too." Romano flushed bright red, but gulped the dregs from his bottle and wiped his mouth off on the back of his hand, having lost any hope of maintaining his cool.

Belgium laughed musically into her glass as she observed him out of the corner of her eye. "Well, you never did collect on that, did you?"

Romano blinked quickly, the alcohol all suddenly rushing to his head, numbing his thoughts.

"No, I guess I didn't."

Belgium didn't say a word, just smirked and yanked Romano down from the barstool and into a hallway, slamming their lips together. Romano, shocked initially, quickly returned the kiss, praying he wasn't dribbling saliva down his chin. When she pulled back and shoved Romano into the wall, she grinned predatorily and breathed hotly into his ear. "Netherlands, Portugal, Spain, were _nothing_. I will make you scream _my_ name, and no one else will ever be enough in your—"

"Wait, wait, could you hold on a second?"

Belgium paused abruptly, withdrawing momentarily. "Yeah? Did you, uh, want to voice a concern?"

"No, I just—were you implying that I'd bottom?"

"Well, that's what you usually do, isn't it?"

"ONCE! ONE TIME! ONE…Well, to be honest, like, one to maybe two or three times, depending on your interpretation, but—"

Belgium nipped at his neck, eliciting a whimper, and cut him off huskily, "Okay, I don't see what the problem is then—"

"W-well, it's just that I think there might be an issue, with you topping, that is."

"And what would that be?" A tinge of impatience had crept into her voice.

"You, uh, do have a vagina, right?"

Belgium groaned, face palming as she stepped away from him. "Roma, I swear, you have these preconceived notions about what men and women can and can't do, and honestly—"

Romano interjected with a wild gesture to their respective genitals. "But I have a dick! And you have a vagina! I'm supposed to top!"

"Roma, since when do you know anything about sex?"

"Wh—? I'm an Italy!"

"Didn't you only lose your virginity to (Netherlands/Portugal) a few days ago?"

"What!? I mean, in my butt, but that doesn't mean I haven't had sex before!"

"Roma, how could that possibly be? You—"

"I HAVE SEX WITH GIRLS ALL THE TIME! I HAVE SO MUCH HETEROSEXUAL SEX! I'M, LIKE, AT THE VERY LEAST, THE FIFTH MOST HETERO CHARACTER IN THIS WHOLE MESS! I AM THE HETEROSAURAUS REX!"

"Wait, who else—"

"Austria, Prussia, Hungary, and YOU!"

Belgium hummed doubtfully. "But isn't Austria kind of gay for Prussia and/or Spain on occasion?"

"Uh…"

"And I know for sure Hungary's not the straightest arrow in the quiver."

Romano blanched. "What? Why?"

Belgium grinned and chirped, "Because that one time we had lesbian sex!" She cocked her head amusedly and chuckled.

"IS NO ONE STRAIGHT AROUND HERE."

Belgium sighed in exasperation and pulled Romano gently by the hand, heading towards the exit. "If your masculinity is really _so_ threatened by me topping, you don't have to bottom."

Romano knit his brows in concentration as she pushed the door open and hailed a cab. "And by that, you mean _my_ dick…goes in _your_ vagina…?"

"Yup."

"In a way that the pope would have no objection to?"

She opened the door, nonchalantly gesturing for him to hop in. "Uh huh."

Romano eyed her doubtfully, plopped down in the middle of the backseat, wincing as a jolt of discomfort shot up his spine. As Belgium collapsed into the seat beside him she chirped cheerfully, "135 Avenue Louise, _s'il vous pla_ _î_ _t!_ "

Romano bit his bottom lip nervously and said a silent prayer for his ass.

* * *

"We're gonna get lung cancer."

Belgium blew smoke at the ceiling and laughed, propping herself up on her elbow. "Roma, nations don't get cancer."

Romano nodded sleepily, fiddling with the edge of the comforter, and inhaled, withdrawing the cigarette from his lips. As he exhaled contentedly, Belgium plucked his cigarette from his fingers and put both of their cancer sticks out in the ceramic ashtray, glazed with the Belgian flag.

"Hey, what was that for?" Romano groaned and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into a cuddle in the middle of the bed.

Belgium snorted. "Too cliché."

"Waaaht?" He combed through her hair with his fingers, yawning. "I eat gelato and pasta every goddamn day, and you _, bella,_ are currently in a chocolate war with Swiss army gun. Also, in keeping with the rest of Europe, we'll fuck anyone with a pulse. What's wrong with cliché?"

"You were going to fall asleep and set my apartment on fire." She pointed out, yawning in turn.

"Tch. Fine."

They lay there lazily for a moment, before Romano broke the drowsy silence. "I like your boobs."

"Thanks. I grew them myself."

Romano snorted with laughter, curling in on Belgium.

She reached over to turn off the light as she hummed affectionately.

" _Goedenacht_ , Roma."

" _Buonanotte, bella."_

* * *

Romano jolted awake and twisted away from the harsh sunlight, hiding his face in Belgium's back. "Gah. What the fuck?"

Emma yanked the covers over her chest and shrieked, "Willem! What—"

Netherlands cut her off snippily, "What the fuck Em? This is a guys only thing!"

"What?!"

Portugal chimed in. "It was an unspoken rule, I thought we all understood that!"

Luxembourg came strolling through the bedroom door, nodding in agreement. "I concur. It's only common sense."

Egypt trailed in behind him to lean casually against the doorframe. "Ah, me too."

"Ohonhonhon, _D'accord_!" and "I'm afraid I must agree as well!" were heard faintly from the kitchen.

Belgium groaned in disbelief. "How did all of you get in my apartm—?"

Romano suddenly yanked her to his chest, pulling the blankets higher. "The last time this happened, it was—"

Turkey and Greece tumbled out of the closet and thumped onto the floor clad only in flag printed boxers and ankle-length socks, snarling threats at each other while they snogged ferociously, legs entangled.

Then, to top it all off, Spain popped his head out from under the bed, grinning toothily.

"GAAAAAAH!" screamed Belgium, jolting back into Romano's chest.

"WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK!" screamed Romano as he clutched at Belgium and the covers. "OUT! EVERYONE GET THE FUCK OUT BEFORE I CALL ROME! AND SOMEONE CLOSE THE GODDAMN CURTAINS!"

* * *

"Anyway, we all decided Belgium would have an unfair advantage, since Romano's had a crush on her for forever, and since he also has dangerously hetero leanings, what with the pope and all."

"Hmmm…you do make an interesting case. What are your thoughts, Feliciano? Also, who's the pope?"

"Ve~ the pope is the leader of the Roman Catholic faith! And I think fratello should have all the sex with all the everybody!"

"Well, thanks for trying Feli. Anyone else? And what's the Roman Catholic faith?"

"Ohonhonhon, the Roman Catholic faith is a branch of Christianity, which a large part of Eur—"

Rome spat out his wine. "CHRISTIANS!? IN THE NAME OF ALMIGHTY JUPITER, WHO AMONG YOU TURNS YOUR BACK ON THE GODS?"

The whole throne room went deadly silent.

Veneziano coughed and sidestepped away from the throne as Romano ducked behind it. "Heh…Er—not Italy, that's for sure."

France piped in quickly with a nervous laugh. "M-me neither, Rome!"

A loud clattering was heard against the marble floor as Portugal angled himself between Spain and Rome, announcing loudly, "Nope! No Christians here!"

Rome laughed roundly, clapping a hand on his knee. "Well, that is an enormous relief! Alright, that aside, I have made my judgement!"

Romano peered out from his hiding spot as all the nations breathed a collective sigh.

Rome cleared his throat and adjusted his crown of golden laurel leaves, enjoying the silence as the entire throne room waited on baited breath.

"Belgium WILL be allowed t—"

The throne room erupted with the groans of the other competitors, and Rome regretted his decision almost immediately, fidgeting in the seat of his throne.

"COULD YOU ALL SHUT YOUR TRAPS FOR ONE GODDAMN MINUTE?" Romano hollered into the din. "ALL OF YOU ARE DISGUSTING SCUM! WHERE IS YOUR CHIVALRY?"

"Roma, chivalry is an inherently misogynistic construct. Besides," Belgium remarked casually as she turned and addressed the crowd of nations, belligerently waving a basket of Belgian fries, "I'LL KILL EVERY LAST ONE OF THEM, AND BREAK FREE OF THESE WALLS!"

The throne room fell silent once again, and Rome rubbed his temples. Belgium cleared her throat, smiling awkwardly as nations began to slink out of the throne room, competitors having admitted defeat.

Suddenly, Sealand piped up innocently, dangling a heavy golden crucifix from his fingers. "Hey Spain! I found your necklace!"

* * *

 

"So, did you...?"

"Did I what?" Belgium's tongue darted out to catch the ketchup from the corner of her mouth as she reached for another fry, tone sweet and innocent and utterly perceptive.

England stuttered. "Erm—you know..."

France cut in, tugging on Belgium's sleeve impatiently."Did you top Roma?"

The group of perhaps a dozen or so nations leaned in, wide-eyed, trepid. Belgium tossed the fry back into its basket, smirking, and plucked the half-full glass ketchup bottle from the middle of the worn table.

"Observe."

She jerked the bottle harshly a couple times, and a blob of the tomato condiment slid past the lip and plopped down onto the crispy fries.

"As you can see," She gestured to the basket. "The ketchup is indeed on top of the fries. But..."

The huddle of nations packed in closer, hanging on every word. She withdrew a single fry from the edge of the basket and plunged it into the blob of ketchup.

"It soon becomes apparent..."

She shoved it into her mouth, chewing in aggressive, exaggerated motions, and swallowed slowly. She sighed lightly and shrugged.

"That the fries seem to be initiating all the action. So..."

She flicked the excess salt off of her fingers and glanced up challengingly, locking eyes with each nation in the group in turn.

"What do you think? Because I think ketchup is better off with fries than with any other food." She eyed France disdainfully. "It's certainly not better with croissants." Her eyes flicked to Spain."Nor churros." She levied her condemning gaze at England. "And definitely not with unidentifiable lumps of charcoal."

"Hey! I'll have you know—"

She cleared her throat loudly and England stopped and crossed his arms, muttering to himself.

Belgium drew another fry from the basket, leaning casually on one elbow. "You were all right to feel threatened by me." She bit down and continued speaking, mouth full. " _You_ all know what I can offer Romano. And _I_ know..."

She grinned as she licked a smear of ketchup off her upper lip. "...that he knows it too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe, should be pretty obvious who Belgium is channelling her fighting spirit from. Also, I think we're winding down here, just a few more individual country chapters!


End file.
